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For every love we carry that can never fulfill. For every dream we keep that can never become real. For every time we stare at the face of the one we hold above all...and know we can never have.
My take on the Mary Sue controversy.


Submitted:Feb 26, 2007    Reads: 931    Comments: 4    Likes: 1   


FirstLove

-Know me, her words cry. See inside my mind, my heart, my life. I'm love and laughter and more than I can ever show them when not behind the words, fantasy and reality bleeding together. Safe.-

(From 'Know Me' by Northlight)

She sees him for the first time, drawn in bold lines and simple movements, and suddenly her life seems to unfold before her. She knows things, with more certainty than any prophet, instead of groping blindly for answers in the dark. A light shines down and she realizes that this is why she was brought into the world. This is whom she will dedicate her life to.

And she knows, that if she could just touch him, just for an instant, that he would feel the same.

But she can't.

She has found her meaning in life, the thing to die for; live for, and she just…can't. There is no hope of approach, no way to see him beyond what is given to her by his creators. She feels ages older than she could possibly be when she thinks of him; she feels like her heart and soul and her very proof of existence will implode if he cannot look at her the way she looks at him. She watches, and watches; dreams, and dreams. She spends all hours of the night, when she could be dreaming of him, awake, just so the danger of losing those dreams won't become real.

And, while her feelings are eating her alive, she knows that there is no way to save herself, for his life is but fiction, a reflection of reality; his fate as debatable and malleable as humans' must be in the eyes of gods. He cannot see her, even when seeming to look straight at her; he cannot feel her, even when she reaches out, like a newborn, for his hand, her fingers gently brushing the screen.

She knows his inner secrets; his darkest memories. She weeps for him when others do not, and thinks to herself, that, if only she is given the chance, she could heal him, bring him in from the cold and take away the despair that binds him. She knows that if just one miracle could be granted for her, a girl who has never asked for anything before, that she could lift him into the greatness he desires--and deserves.

And she lives in pain, knowing that in this age, miracles are dead.

But, just as her darkest agony takes hold, she finds a way. A way for her to live the life she craves, for him to look at her and smile, the way no other boy has ever looked at her.

To love, and be loved, in return.

And then there comes the hours at the keyboard, crafting, molding, shaping; making her way into his life, bit by bit. She does not overdo it, she takes only what there is; to fool him would be to lose him.

And then, after carving out her soul and forcing it, bit by bloody bit, into what she needs to cross to him and win him over, after nursing cramps from the work and withstanding fights from the parents who do not understand what it means to feel this way about someone; after she is nearly dead from typing, she is done.

She has found her portal, and into it she steps, knowing in her very life-force that this will be the end to both their pain. She enters it, and then she is through, and there he is, and, just as she knew he would, he runs to her, tears of joy in his eyes, and grabs her, so tight that she cannot breathe, for fear of losing her. He kisses her, and she feels that her heart will shatter from joy. She is crying, and he is crying, and they know that nothing can ever tear them apart again. And, just when she cannot think but for the wonder of it, he whispers her name in her ear, like a lover; like a man near death to the angel that saves him.

"Mary Sue…"





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